


soul-searching | d.d.

by propertyofdindjarin



Series: din djarin drabbles+ [11]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Multi, No Gender Pronouns, Some Cursing, Some angst, second-person, slightly fluffy open ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propertyofdindjarin/pseuds/propertyofdindjarin
Summary: When the Jedi Luke Skywalker whisks Grogu away to train him in the Force, he also strips the Mandalorian of his purpose. As the bounty hunter enters a period of soul-searching, he finds an odd mechanic working for Peli Motto who offers to help him build a new gunship from scratch. But this mechanic may mend more than Din’s sense of direction.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Series: din djarin drabbles+ [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785928
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	soul-searching | d.d.

**Author's Note:**

> [link to tumblr post](https://propertyofdindjarin.tumblr.com/post/643314489930989568/soul-searching-dd)

_Soul-searching (/ˈsōl ˌsərCHiNG/): An in-depth, honest evaluation or examination of your life's motivations, your values and your emotions regarding your life's path._

The Mandalorian is lost. He spends his days wandering between planets in or around the Outer Rim, and he’s not sure why. After the Razor Crest was brutally shot down by Moff Gideon, sometimes he tells himself that he goes to planets like Tatooine in search of a better replacement gunship. But he never finds one. Other times it’s for different food, which doesn’t make sense since Din never cares about what he eats. He returns to Sorgan more often than he’ll admit to see Omera’s krill-farming villagers and the progress they have made from repairing the aftermath of defeating the Klatoonians. He visits Greef Karga and the New Republic Marshal Cara Dune, who currently live in Nevarro, frequently as well. 

Din Djarin can’t remember the last time he’s showered, let alone take off the beskar that covers his body. He hasn’t looked at a mirror in ages and can’t get himself to brush his hair. Dreams of past trauma and the kid plague him when he tries to sleep, so he avoids it whenever possible. Sleep is not a choice anymore, but a state that he enters when his body physically cannot stay awake any longer. Although Greef Karga has told him several times that his name is cleared in the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he cannot bring himself to associate with the organization any longer. Every time he looks at a tracking fob, he freezes and is transported to the memory of other bounty hunters tracking their way to the kid, regardless of which planets he escapes to. 

When given a bounty to hunt, it is done privately by clients who seek the Mandalorian out on their own. For an even higher rate than before, he acts as a private mercenary. He turns into a cold-blooded assassin or a far merciless one than before. He retires the slogan “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold” and instead hunts in dead silence. His bounties are delivered to his clients in one form: lifeless.

He knows that he has changed. The Armorer had told him what his purpose was, and now that he had fulfilled it, he did not know what to do with himself. He can hunt for as many bounties as he wants, but he finds that nothing seems to fill the emptiness that cloaks him. It’s almost comical that Din wasn’t aware of such an existence before his foundling left. Grogu had filled a hole that he didn’t even know had been there. Now the kid was gone. And Din is all alone again.

The galaxy is cruel; of course, Din knew that already. His parents passed away before he lived a single decade. A covert of faceless, beskar-clad people took him in and trained his young and impressionable self to kill. He relies on those skills to maim or murder others for credits. It’s no wonder that his life leans on fragile crutches wobbling on cracked concrete. 

He has never felt so lost and lonely in his entire life. For Din Djarin, everything feels like it’s hurtling out of his control. But the Mandalorian? His reputation as a ruthless bounty hunter precedes him. The Mandalorian is calm and composed. Above all, he will get the job done. No one will ask about the Mandalorian’s mental or physical state, either because they are afraid of suffering by his hands or because they know him well enough to understand that the man behind the beskar is not ready to answer that question. 

Deciding that he has had enough of shying away from his mental turmoil, Din sets a course for Tatooine again and tells himself that he’ll actually put effort into finding a gunship this time. If he can’t find one that meets all of his requirements, he’ll build one. It is progress, but saying something versus actually doing it is drastically different. 

When the trashy temporary ship that he got for a few thousand credits from a random guy—probably a criminal of some sort—sputters to a stop inside Hangar 3-5 at the Mos Eisley spaceport, Din shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. After releasing it, he exits the ship, expecting to see Peli Motto and her DUM-series pit droids again. A cloud of dust floats upward when he steps down. 

“ _Dank farrik_ [goddamnit],” he mutters, feeling the hot floor of the hangar waft up from the soles of his boots to his feet. Although he has been to the planet numerous times, Din is always surprised by the heat. 

He scans the hangar for any sign of Peli Motto but does not see her there. The sound of several clangs and robotic squeaks reveals that her irksome droids are there, though. Sure enough, Din finds that he is correct. The three tiny ones with the mushroom-cap heads march in with their rusty joints.

“Where is Peli Motto?” he asks.

It’s a question more to guide himself. The pit droids squeak a response, but Din does not pay attention. He barely understands Binary anyway. He reminds himself that he should learn some more, with the way that droids somehow are attracted to him, but the stubborn part of him refuses to let him try. He gives the hangar a once-over again, turning around to see all corners. A gust of wind blows slightly upward. He sighs at how grains of Tatooine sand have flown up his helmet and somehow down his boots. He really needs to give the beskar a deep cleaning, but that’s more work than necessary, so he won’t. 

“She’s out.”

The Mandalorian whirls around and points a blaster at the source of the voice. Strange, he hadn’t heard a single footstep, and he hears every little thing under the helmet. 

At blasterpoint, you laugh. It’s unnerving. You step out of the shadows and twirl the wrench you’re holding. You speak a few indecipherable lines of Binary, and when one of the droids comes over, you swap the wrench out for a screwdriver. Din squints, trying to identify what you are. 

“Drop the blaster, Mando. I’m not a threat yet,” you say as you move toward him. Your walk is slow and lazy. It’s as if you have all the time in the world. Do you know who he is? The light exposes your face and physical features; you’re human. You hop over a few unopened cases of gears until you’re a meter or so away from him. Humming a vaguely familiar Huttese cantina song, you look over at the sorry excuse of a ship docked in the hangar. “Well, that hunk of junk certainly isn’t the Razor Crest.” 

You’re expecting a reply, so when you don’t get one, you arch an eyebrow at the Mandalorian. Din is frozen, but this time, it isn’t waves of past trauma or memories that overwhelm him. He’s merely shocked at the audacity you have. The Mandalorian has a reputation for being a ruthless bounty hunter who will do whatever it takes to reach his goal. He’s used to having people know that he will not hesitate to kill them if they do not deliver what he wants, whether it be information, credits, or something else. But the tone and overall attitude that you have displayed toward him in these few minutes are so far from what he expects that he is confounded. No one has greeted him with such a blatant disregard for his status before. 

Din doesn’t know what to do. So for the first time in what has to be several years, he asks, “Do you know who I am?”

“Sure I do. Aren’t you the Mandalorian who made Peli babysit a green baby of some sort while you fought some weird sand monster a while back? A guy named Calican nearly killed her while you were gone. And then you also came back not long after to take Frog Lady with you. Also, isn’t there a weird history between you and the kid?”

When you don’t get a confirmation, you continue to ramble anyway. “Peli spent the entire week talking about it. I think that you were supposed to steal the green dude to bring him to the Imps, then you stole him back from the Imps, and then they stole him back? Anyway, the days that those events happened oddly were the days that I took off. But Maker, I wish I would have seen the green dude she’d been talking about. She said the kid’s the cutest thing ever. Beats spending hours running around the desert for a new place to stay.”

You wait for a response again. Like before, you don’t get one.

“Huh. So you’re the silent type, are you?”

It’s a slight movement, but you catch how the Mandalorian turns his head to the side. You’re wondering what he’s thinking about, but Din’s brain is relatively blank at the moment. The only thing running through his mind is the same question he’s had since he landed in Tatooine. You haven’t answered it, so he might as well ask again.

“Where is Peli Motto?”

“Didn’t I answer that already?” 

You blink twice, then say something in Binary again. Another droid comes up to you with a tray full of materials. He can’t see which ones, so he places his hand over his blaster. You could be procuring a weapon of your own. Instead of brandishing a counter weapon, you rummage through the items on the tray and pick out a different screwdriver, then walk over to a desk near the exit of the hangar. You grab one of the gears there and begin to pick at it with the screwdriver. 

As you work on the gear, you add, “Maybe you’re a bit thick, or maybe I haven’t told you, and I’m the dumb one. Well, in that case, I’ll tell you again. Peli’s out.” 

Before you know it, Din moves from his position near the ship to right beside you. He cocks the blaster at your head and says, “Specify.”

Din stiffens when he sees your eyes roll. Why are you not afraid of him? The only people who are bold enough to disrespect him are the ones who do not know who he is or the ones who think they can overpower him. From his initial analysis, Din is inclined to believe that it is more of the former. You do not move as a hardened warrior does. Your eyes do not dart to examine the room every so often and Din cannot see any blaster holsters on you. 

“Maker, are all Mandalorians supposed to be like this?” 

Din snaps back to reality with your statement. He tightens his hold on the blaster and nudges it against your head to remind you who is in control. Din doesn’t know why he’s doing this; your claim of not being a threat is probably right. Din finds that he does not believe you to be dangerous or someone who knows what they’re doing. But he needs to find Peli Motto to help him find a replacement gunship.

“Quiet. Redundant. Motionless,” you list. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said this twice now, but Peli is out. This means that she is not in Hangar 3-5 at Mos Eisley and is not available for you to talk to.”

“Why?” It’s a question, but he says it more like a demand. 

When you don’t offer an immediate answer, he presses the blaster harder against your temple.

“Kriff, Mando. If you must know, Peli’s gone on her yearly vacation. And I’m not going to tell you where she went because she deserves a break. It’s not her job to be constantly available to repair that ship of yours.”

You hesitate, looking back at the tiny ship docked in this hangar. It practically fell apart the moment it had landed. That ship clearly isn’t the Razor Crest, so you say, “Well, that can’t happen anymore anyway, I guess, so I’ll redact that point. But the main one is that Peli isn’t available to give you those little sand bike things so you can chase after bounties that end up getting her trapped at blasterpoint.”

Thinking back to the green kid that Peli used to rave about over a glass of spotchka during the games of sabacc before she left for vacation, you add, “Or be a glorified babysitter. Oh, and, where even is the kid?”

You’ve heard many rumors regarding the Mandalorian as a mechanic in Hangar 3-5. Some are outrageous, like the rumor that the Mandalorian had killed Moff Gideon. That heinous man was already dead, executed for war crimes. How do you kill someone who has already left the land of the living? 

When you consider how the Mandalorian remains quiet after your question regarding the asset he stole from the Imperials, this changes your perspective on the Mandalorian. Rumors are rumors, yes you know this. But one rumor sparks curiosity within you. Although you know that the man is a silent one by nature, the atmosphere after you asked of the whereabouts of the Child seems to be different. It is far too heavy to be imposed by self-will. This silence envelopes the Mandalorian rather than him enveloping it, confirming the veracity behind the rumors you are thinking of. The Mandalorian truly does not have the Child anymore. 

Many other specimens have come to this hangar with whispers of what had happened for the Mandalorian to lose the green bean. You find it extremely interesting that you knew so much about the Mandalorian before this encounter, even though he knew nothing of you. Several Hutts spilled their spotchka all over their shirts while they drunkenly claimed that the Jedi Luke Skywalker came to whisk the Child away. 

Others, like a notably drunk—even drunker than the Hutts that visited this hangar—Gungan rambled some unintelligible words regarding the Jedi Ahsoka Tano. As if a Jedi would ever work in tandem with a Mandalorian. One pilot of an unidentifiable race clamored aboard their ship and shouted before departure that they had seen the Mandalorian betray his Creed and give up the foundling to Moff Gideon. Again, definitely false, as Moff Gideon was dead. Now that you’re thinking about it, there were a lot of misguided rumors regarding this dead man. 

Then again, most of these rumors came from drunks. Well, there is the saying that drunk thoughts have sober meanings, but most of the rumors you’ve heard are far too strange to be true. 

You made sure to steel your face as much as possible during your realization, but you know that the silence has gone for far too long on both ends. The Mandalorian knows that you know that he does not have the Child. Wanting him to drop the blaster from your head, which has held for a surprisingly long time without shaking, you attempt to redirect the conversation.

“Anyway, so, where is Peli Motto? Unavailable, that’s the answer. Instead of her, you have me today. Now I’m going to be asking you a question this time. What did you come here for? Also, I’d like for you to drop the blaster.”

He immediately asks, “Pre-Empire, untrackable gunships. Where do I find one?”

Since you’re expecting silence and an unmoving Mandalorian, you’re slightly shocked by how quickly he places the blaster back in its holster and starts speaking. You shake that shock off with a laugh, thinking of how many New Republic officers would be on your ass if you knew the answer to that question. 

“Definitely not here, Mando.”

The Mandalorian slaps ten credits in your hand. You turn your head to the side as you’ve noticed that the Mandalorian does. How much is he willing to give you for more information? A smirk creeps onto your face when you remember.

“Well,” you say, cocking your head to the side. You hum yet another cantina song as you turn around to examine the entrance of the hangar. Satisfied with the single glance you’ve had, you determine that there is no one will overhear this conversation. Your voice lowers. “There is one way.”

When you pause and glance at the credits that he’s given you so far, ten more credits land in your hand. 

“That’s twenty,” he rasps. “Tell me.”

Your brow raises. You didn’t know if that would work. Expecting the Mandalorian to beat you up in exchange for answers was more of what you were thinking. You weren’t going to push it, though. The Mandalorian definitely could tell that you were laying the drama on thick. 

You flash a smile and say, “Why buy it when you can build it?”

You walk over to the desk and start to sketch a design for a gunship. You don’t know if he wants a similar one to the Razor Crest, but you’re sure that he wants it to be untrackable by both the Empire—or what’s left of it—and the New Republic. After all, that was the first thing he asked for. It has to be important. 

When the Mandalorian does not object, you continue. “You want a pre-Empire gunship so it can be untrackable, right?”

He nods.

“As far as I know, pre-Empire gunships don’t exist anymore, Mando. Everything’s under someone’s radar. So you have to think about it the opposite way. Why not pre-Empire, but post-Empire? I constructed a lot of the ships that the New Republic used during the war. That means I have experience and contacts. I can build you a ship from scratch and it will be both under the radar and customized to fit your,” you pause, struggling to think of the word that would encompass the carbonite that you’ve heard so much of. You end up saying, “special Mandalorian stuff.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“I’ll build the gunship that you want for free if you provide permanent housing, food, and 40% of all your commissions for me.”

“20% of my commissions.”

“How about 35, and I act as a mechanic for you whenever something damages the ship?”

“30.”

“No, I’m calling in favors to build this special ship of yours. I’m risking both my reputation and my life if anyone gets a hold of this deal. 35%.”

“30,” he repeats.

“I’ll build your ship, be a full-time mechanic, and,” you sigh. You didn’t want to give yourself more work to do, but it seemed like you had to draw this card. Before you speak again, you add smaller details to your draft of the ship. “I can also treat any wounds you have. I have field experience as a medic from the war too. If you can’t let me treat your wounds because of the Creed, if that’s a thing, then I can offer you medical advice while you treat your own wounds, or give you my med stash. There are some things that bacta alone cannot heal, whether it’s because time works against it or because of the severity of the wound.”

Yet another rumor flashes in your mind. This one, you put to use. You say, “I heard that a war droid aided you in that clash with the stormtroopers. I think that alone shows how dangerous your work is if you’re willing to ally with those terrible droids. Maybe you were fine back then without me, but you had the war machine known as the Razor Crest and a green kid that can do Jedi magic tricks. Now you don’t, and we both need each other. So 35%.”

You’re strange, and don’t act the way that Din expects you to. But maybe he doesn’t need someone predictable right now. The modulator crackles half-way through the word, but what he says is clear enough to be understood. 

“Fine.”

“Great!” you blurt, not fully registering what he’s said. When you’ve processed it, you have to force yourself to blink. You did not expect him to fold so easily, but you tell yourself to snap out of it. You look down at what you’ve made on the desk and decide that it’s good enough. The hull is in no way supposed to look as lopsided as it does right now, but it’ll be fine. First drafts are always terrible. But a first is a first. It’s progress. 

You crumple the piece of paper you’ve been drawing on into a ball and throw it in his direction. Not surprisingly, he catches it with ease. 

“Open it. It’s a rough draft of the ship. The left is the design and the right has a list of materials that I’ll need, but we can work on that as the design develops. It’s obviously going to take a bit of time to build, so I’ll work on repairing the janky ship that you have so far. Replacing the exhaust pipes should fix the engine problem. Everything else should be an easy fix. When it’s done, which will take two days at most, but more likely a day, you can do your bounty hunting thing to get some more credits for the materials needed to make the real gunship.” 

Din nods again.

“Come on, Mando, let’s go do some soul-searching.”

**Author's Note:**

> please drop a Kudos or a comment if you liked this :)


End file.
